Highland Temptation Page 7

  Chapter 9

  It felt like she’d been waiting for this moment her entire life.

  Sir Colin Stirling was kissing her, his warm, dry lips moving hungrily over hers. She opened her mouth and mimicked his movement, wanting more. Not wanting this to ever stop.

  His big hands slid from her cheeks to behind her neck, his fingertips pressing into her hairline as he held her locked against him. She reached behind him, grasping the backs of his shoulders and clutching him to her.

  He yanked back, but she didn’t let him go far.

  “I shouldn’t be doing this,” he whispered, his breath hot on her lips.

  “Why?” she demanded.

  “I made a promise…”

  She could easily guess what promise that had been. “To not besmirch my honor?”

  “Aye.”

  “I don’t care.” She moved in, this time initiating the kiss. He didn’t rebuff her, thank God, because she would have been mortified if he had. He quickly took control again, pressing soft, small kisses, sipping from her lips, and she sighed in pleasure. When he nudged her lips open and gently flicked her teeth with his tongue, she gasped. His fingers tightened in her hair, and she pressed her body against his, her heart thrumming when she felt the rigidness beneath his kilt. But that didn’t make her pull away; instead, it compelled her to kiss him harder.

  They stumbled to the bed, and he pulled away for a moment to wrap his hands around her waist and lift her onto the mattress. He kissed her as he sat beside her, and they lay down together on their sides, facing each other with their lips locked.

  Keeping one hand curled around her nape, he moved the other, stroking down her upper back then to her ribs and over the dip in her waist, avoiding her wounds, before grasping her upper thigh in his hand and tugging her until her body was flush against his.

  His lips moved to her jaw, then her ear as his hand traveled again, gently pressing her onto her back while he moved her dress up her hip and stomach until he was cupping her breast. Even through the layers of fabric separating her skin from his, she felt it to her core as his thumb stroked her nipple. She shuddered, her whole body racked with sensation from that touch as his teeth closed gently over her earlobe.

  She turned to him, kissing wherever her lips could reach—his lightly stubbled jaw, across to his lips again, his flesh there soft and warm. Their tongues tangled, and with his hands on her breasts, Emilia thought she might swoon from the eroticism of this moment. She’d never been kissed, but she’d dreamed of kissing Colin from the moment he stepped into her father’s home. She’d imagined kissing as a gentle movement of a man’s lips over a woman’s. But this—this was intense, arousing. Her skin crawled and her blood boiled, and she wanted more, deeper.

  “Emilia,” Colin whispered gruffly, pulling back for just long enough to say her name before he was kissing her again, as if he couldn’t get enough of her, his lips moving all over her face, her jaw, her neck, and the exposed skin of her chest. His hot tongue trailed a path along the edge of her bodice. “You taste so good,” he muttered. “So damned good.”

  She pushed her hands into the thick brown waves of his hair, so different from her own wispy curls. She arched into his kiss, and he responded by kissing her harder, his fingers tightening on her breast and his lips firming over her skin.

  Gasping, she moved her hands from his hair to his broad shoulders, feeling the powerful play of muscles beneath his waistcoat.

  “Oh,” she whispered, feeling terribly feminine in the presence of his intense masculinity. She moved lower, over his arms, then over his hand where he still manipulated her breast.

  “Do you like that, Emilia?” he whispered gruffly. “Does it feel good to be touched like this?”

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  He softened his touch. “Do you like it gentle?”

  “Yes.”

  “Or hard?” He pinched her nipple, and she nearly leapt off the bed.

  “Yes,” she groaned. The hard pinch hadn’t hurt at all; it had made pleasure burst through her like a rocket.

  “Mmm…” he whispered. Moving higher, he was at her lips again, his voice rumbling through her. “I could kiss you all night.”

  “Yes, please.”

  He laughed.

  Someone knocked on the door. They both went rigid, Colin’s body like steel over hers.

  “Aye?” he said, turning his face to the door.

  “I’ve brought ye up a bit of warm water, for you and your lady to wash, Mr. Montgomery.”

  It was Mrs. Thomas’s voice. Eyes narrowed, Colin climbed off Emilia, and she slid from the bed as he strode toward the door. He looked back at her before he opened the door, ensuring she was presentable, she supposed. She smiled and nodded, then turned to the table and began to draw the pins out of her hair one by one.

  Colin opened the door and murmured thanks to Mrs. Thomas, but when she tried to bustle in, he told her they were tired and were attempting to rest a bit before dinner.

  “All right, then,” the older woman chirped. “Here’s yer hot water. And I warmed some towels for you. And would ye like me to bring another warm brick for your bed? It’s wretched cold in these rooms on rainy nights…”

  “Nay, I thank you,” Colin said patiently, and Emilia smiled. He was a very patient man. By now, her father would have been so annoyed, he’d probably have the woman dismissed from her position. Emilia had seen him do that at least a dozen times over the years, and it was quite a painful thing to witness.

  The door closed, and she turned to see Colin’s arms laden with towels and a steaming basin. She hurried over to help him, taking the towels as he set the basin on the table. “I canna decide if she’s overly friendly or just a busybody,” he grumbled.

  “Perhaps a bit of both.” She laid the warm towels beside the basin and then stood awkwardly beside him, sensing his reticence.

  Finally, she looked up at him. He pushed a hand through his hair, not meeting her eyes. “You’re a sweet, bonny lass, Emilia,” he said quietly.

  She braced herself for the “but.”

  “But…I canna.” He closed his eyes tight in a long blink then opened them again. “I dinna ken what would’ve happened had she not knocked just now.”

  She gazed evenly at him. “I don’t know, either, but—”

  He shook his head, cutting off what she had been about to say. “Nay. You’re an innocent, in every way. I’m here to protect you, not to…” His voice faded.

  “Not to what?”

  “Drag you into the dark with me.” He looked away, and she could see the tick of his racing pulse in his neck.

  She frowned and reached toward him, but he stepped back. “Is that where you are, Colin? In the dark?”

  He rubbed his face, frustrated, still not looking at her. “I dinna ken. I just know it’s a place where a lass like you shouldna be.”

  “I don’t understand,” she whispered.

  “ ’Tisn’t for you to understand, lass,” he said wearily. He looked at her again, and his eyes were dark. Resigned.

  “Colin—”

  “You’re a bonny woman, and I admire you very much. Too much. But I wilna be taking advantage of your vulnerable state. It canna happen again.”

  With that, he closed himself to her. He hardly spoke to her for the rest of the night—there was no light conversation as they ate a dinner of pigeon pie, and there was no talk after. Tonight he didn’t leave to “check the horses” as he had the night before, but he did make himself a bed on the floor once again, and he turned his back as she changed into her nightgown.

  Perhaps she should be distraught, embarrassed first by her brazen display and then by his rejection, but she wasn’t.

  She understood why he had withdrawn. She understood it completely, and though she didn’t agree, if anything it made her admire him more.

  In addition, she now knew he was attracted to her. The subtle looks he gave her that she hadn’t previously understood now held mea
ning. He found her appealing. He wanted to touch her, to kiss her. Perhaps more. And that truth made her feel tingly all over.

  He checked the dressing on her back and decided to change it, though she hadn’t bled through the bandages today. He made a pleased Scottish-sounding grunt when he observed her wounds.

  “It’s Lady Claire’s salve, I think,” she murmured. “That stuff is a miracle.”

  He didn’t answer but rubbed more of the salve into the wounds, his big fingers ever so gentle, she almost fell asleep, as she was lying facedown on the bed. But then he bade her rise so that he could rewrap the linen about her torso. Yawning, she complied. He wrapped her, and she pulled up her nightgown, turning to him with a smile.

  “Thank you. They’re so much better I keep forgetting about them.”

  “Not me,” he murmured darkly. He bent down as she watched and retrieved from his stocking the small dagger he’d been holding in his nightmare last night. He held it out to her, hilt-first, his lips tight.

  “This is my sgian dubh. I sleep with it at my side each night, but ’tis too dangerous for me to do so now.”

  Chewing on her lower lip, she moved her gaze from the proffered dagger to his eyes.

  “You take it,” he said. “Keep it by your pillow. Use it if needs be, or—”

  “I wouldn’t know how to use that thing!” she exclaimed.

  “You must protect yourself,” he insisted. “If there’s time, wake me and give it to me, but only if I’m lucid, d’you understand?”

  “Oh, Colin.” Sadness welled within her at his tight, dark expression. He didn’t trust himself. He considered his nightmares a madness.

  Not knowing what else to do, she took it from him.

  “ ’Tis sharp,” he warned. “Keep it close, but be careful with it, aye?”

  She nodded gravely and set the dagger on the side table. Seeing him watching her with narrowed eyes, she explained, “I’ll sleep on this side of the bed, facing the table. I can reach it in a fraction of a second if I must.”

  Lips tight, he nodded. “Just be careful. It’ll slice your fingers right off if you handle it wrong.”

  “I understand.” She hoped she’d never have to reach for the blasted thing in a hurry.

  He gazed at her, and nodded. “Well, then. We should sleep. Another long day of travel tomorrow.”

  “Yes,” she agreed. She climbed into the bed, but despite the hot brick that Mrs. Thomas had brought up, the sheets were cold. She curled into a ball, willing warmth into her limbs and thinking of Colin lying on the hard floor, probably colder and definitely more uncomfortable than she was.

  Would the terrible nightmare visit him again tonight? She hoped not—not for her sake, but for his.

  Chapter 10

  Emilia’s father was after her. His breaths were heavy in the mist, but it was too dark to see him. He seemed to surround her. He was everywhere, and she didn’t know which way to run.

  She turned in a slow circle, the mossy ground cold under her bare feet. Where was he?

  “Emilia,” he said sharply, “come with me. Right now, or your punishment will be even more severe.”

  She was too frightened to respond, her breaths coming out in short gasps, her heart beating so hard she thought it might break her ribs. She clutched her hand to her chest, as if that might help to contain it. It punched angrily against her palm.

  “Emilia!” her father barked. His voice came from all around her.

  And then the whip cracked on her back. She jerked, crying out in pain, feeling the scabs break, the blood begin to seep into her dress. She sobbed, “No, Papa, please, Papa,” and she saw his face looming over her, ghostly white, dripping with sweat, sneering in anger.

  “You are an evil, unfaithful daughter. You make me sick,” her father spat out.

  Crack!

  This time the force of the whip made her surge upward, panting, her eyes popping open. Slowly, the bedchamber came into focus. She was sitting up in bed, the blankets twisted around her. The room wasn’t completely dark—Colin had turned down the lantern to the lowest possible setting without extinguishing it.

  Her father was here. His breaths were ragged, just like they’d been in the clearing.

  Frantic, she lunged for the dagger, the sgian dubh. She grabbed it by the hilt and thrust it out in front of her.

  But then, reality seeped in. No. Papa wasn’t here. Someone was gasping, panting, but it wasn’t her father. She lowered the dagger, listening, her own chest heaving.

  And then she saw Colin’s head, his hair nearly black in the dim light. He was sitting up and leaning forward, his head just visible over the foot of the bed. His shoulders rose up and down with every labored breath he took.

  She threw off the covers and slid from the bed, hurrying around it to see what was wrong. He sat up, his knees clutched to his chest, his forehead pushing down on them. He rocked back and forth, breaths sawing from his chest, his shoulders shuddering with the effort.

  She dropped to her knees beside him and put her arm around his shaking shoulders. “Colin?”

  He didn’t respond, only flinched at her touch. She thought of her own beating heart…she’d just been woken from a nightmare in which she’d mistaken Colin’s breathing for her father’s. In the dream, she’d hardly been able to breathe. Her chest had been so tight, her heart frantic. She’d felt just like Colin looked right now.

  “It’s all right,” she murmured. “It’s just another dream. It’s over.”

  He sobbed on an exhalation that sounded so painful she winced.

  “Colin, just breathe, please. Take a deep breath.”

  Miraculously, he did as she instructed, shuddering as he drew in air, his back rising as his chest expanded.

  “Good,” she murmured. “Now, let it all out. The darkness is leaving you with this breath.”

  He blew it out, slow and long. Under her arm, his back was like steel. “Breathe again, just like that,” she told him, and as he did so she said, “The rest of the darkness is going now. With every breath, it dissipates. You’re getting rid of all of it. Nothing’s going to be left but me, here beside you.”

  He breathed a half-dozen times like this, long and slow, and his body’s shudders lessened on each exhalation.

  Finally, he stopped shaking altogether, but he didn’t look up at her. He kept his forehead pressed to his kneecaps, and she noticed for the first time that except for removing his cravat and waistcoat, he hadn’t undressed for bed. He still wore his kilt and stockings, even his shoes.

  She gently combed her fingers through his hair, pressing her fingertips to his scalp in a way she hoped felt good to him.

  “It’s all right,” she murmured. “It’s over now.”

  Finally he lifted his head and turned to stare at her, the golden flecks in his eyes bright and glassy.

  “Why are you not frightened by me, Emilia?”

  She took a moment to respond, her hand falling from his hair to flatten over his back between his shoulder blades.

  “I know a man who frightens me,” she finally said, her voice quiet, the image of spittle flying from her father’s lips flickering in her mind. “But you are his antithesis.”

  He looked away. “Perhaps not.”

  “No. You are his opposite in every way.”

  “I should frighten you,” he said, and his voice was ragged and shaking. “I frighten myself.”

  “The darkness you spoke of earlier,” she said, “it’s not who you are. I know you’re fighting it.”

  “Them.”

  She tilted her head in question.

  “The demons. The spirits of the men I’ve killed.” He squeezed his eyes shut.

  The pain in his expression made her heart sink straight through the slats of wood on the floor.

  “Dozens of them,” he whispered raggedly. “I see their faces. They come to torture me. To drive me insane as punishment. To kill me.”

  She hesitated, once again knowing she was out of
her depth, terribly afraid that something she said would make it worse for him. But she had to say something. She had to try.

  “I’ll help you fight them,” she whispered.

  He swung his head to face her again, his eyes blinking. “Why?”

  “Because I don’t want them to destroy a good man. I won’t let them destroy a good man.” Determination made her voice quiver.

  “I’m too far gone,” Colin said. “I canna control them, canna stop them—”

  “No, you’re not too far gone,” she interrupted. “You can conquer them.”

  “I’ve tried.” He sounded exhausted.

  “Maybe. But you’ve been alone. Now you have me.” That statement sounded brisk and confident, and it matched the feeling she had in her gut. The confidence made her feel strong for the first time in a very long while. It was who she was, she realized. Not a beaten-down waif, but a strong woman who could battle her own demons and help Colin battle his.

  She pressed her forehead to his shoulder. “We can conquer them together. I promise, Colin. We can and we will.”

  He didn’t answer, and they sat in the quiet dimness for a long while, Colin with his arms still wrapped around his shins and she with her arm around him, leaning her head on his shoulder. She wanted desperately to kiss him—she felt so very close to him at this moment. Closer than she ever had to anyone.

  But, as he hadn’t wanted to take advantage of her vulnerability last night, now she didn’t want to take advantage of his.

  Finally, she murmured, “I want you to come to the bed with me. You’re not getting a good night’s sleep on the floor.”

  “I canna—”

  “Nothing’s going to happen,” she said, cutting him off. “It’ll be like that first night in London, when you comforted me. Please, let me hold you tonight. Let me comfort you.”

  She saw his throat move as he swallowed.

  “It’ll be all right,” she said softly. “In any case, it’s so cold. We can at least keep each other warm.”

  After a long moment in which she could clearly see him warring with himself, he nodded. “Aye.”

  —

  The next day, the cloud cover broke, leaving a bright blue sky dappled with dark gray clouds that brought intermittent showers.